Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas
by Futago no Seishi
Summary: Marth has never been fond of Christmas much. Ike, on the other hand, adores the holiday almost to a fault. Based loosely on the folk song "The Twelve Days of Christmas." AU, yaoi, IkeMarth, gratuitous fluff, potentially bizarre ideas. Rating varies by chapter.
1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr. Thank you for being my best friend and Merry Christmas! When I am less painfully broke, I will get you a proper Christmas gift; I promise.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **1/12  
**Rating: **G (subject to change)  
**Words:** 935  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, unabashed fluff, un-beta'd

**A/N:** Because I was listening to "The Twelve Days of Christmas" song and I thought to myself: "Gee, wouldn't it be a cute idea to write a Christmas-themed fic referencing the song and post each section during the twelve days leading up to Christmas?" And yes, I do know that the twelve days of Christmas actually begin on Christmas day, but I'm not Christian and this is how I want to spend my December (apparently).

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 1: A Partridge in a Pear Tree**

Marth was never one for Christmas.

Growing up, Christmas was a purely commercial celebration in his household. They did the gift exchange, but that was about the end of the level of their festivities. The only decoration they had was a sorry-looking artificial Christmas tree with some haphazard ornaments thrown on and no lights. They didn't do the stockings, didn't play the holiday carols, didn't throw parties. It wasn't so much that his family hated Christmas or anything like that; they just never _loved_ it. Christmas was just an obligatory celebration for the elder Lowells, what with two children expecting presents (but not from Santa Claus, since they didn't believe in him).

So when Marth moved out into his first apartment, he didn't feel the pressing need to buy a tree (artificial or real) or decorate his home come December. He just couldn't be bothered with the hassle of spending time to decorate for a single month before having to strip it all down again when the "holiday season" had passed. Besides, he would rather save his expendable income for the future instead of squandering it on trinkets. Not that he was a miser, or anything—he got his friends Christmas gifts, of course. But he was in no rush to host the holiday party of the year or anything like that.

That was until he met Ike.

See, Ike was one of those people who _adored_ Christmas. In fact, Marth was fairly positive that his spouse loved Christmas more than he loved him.

Ike was the type to start playing Christmas music right after Halloween, completely ignoring the holiday in between (not that Marth really celebrated Thanksgiving either, but still). By November 1st, Marth could guarantee that their apartment was halfway covered in all that is red, green, gold, and sparkly. Come mid-November, Ike was forcibly dragging him out to the nearest Christmas tree farm to select their own real tree because artificial would never pass for a Christmas purist such as Ike. By the time the tree was properly prepped and dressed (usually the next day with Ike's fervor), they were posing for their annual Christmas cards with their equally-Christmas-loving golden retriever. Guaranteed by the end of Novemember, Marth was already sick of vacuuming up all the needles from the damnable (albeit pleasantly fragrant) tree. And at the start of December, they were sending out the invitations to their annual holiday bash featuring the aforementioned Christmas photo.

After three years of dating and five years of marriage, Marth had resigned himself to the obligatory Christmas routine that was a condition of loving a man such as Ike. Initially, Marth found himself resenting Christmas for all the _trouble_ it brought; but as the years went on, he slowly developed a fondness for the hectic holiday. He would be lying to himself if he insisted it was born from anything but seeing the joy on Ike's face whenever they put together a freshly-baked gingerbread house or hung the wreath on their front door.

Currently, they were on the tree-decorating stage of the cycle. Marth had just finished vacuuming the trail of pine needles leading from the front door to their living room (because _someone_ had to do the cleaning around here). Ike was crouched in front of a series of storage boxes full of ornaments, searching intently for something. "Marth," he piped up after the vacuum had shut off, "can you help me?"

"With what?" Marth finished tucking the vacuum back in the closet and made his way over to the tree.

"The partridge!" Ike yelped in exasperation, throwing off the lid to a second box as if he held a personal vendetta against it. "I can't find it anywhere, and I _swear_ I put it in here…"

As Ike trailed off mumbling, Marth changed direction and moved back to the storage closet. He knew the decoration well; it was the same tree topper that Ike used, time after time, no matter what color scheme they were going for that particular year. It was a modest ornament: a simple faux partridge set upon a bed of leaves with a single, blush-tinted green pear to its side. It was something of a family heirloom, passed down to Ike from his parents after he moved out. He grew up seeing the partridge at the top of every Christmas tree, and he once told Marth that Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas without the bird's blessing.

"Hey… where are you going?" came Ike's confused voice behind him.

"Hold on."

Because it was so special to Ike (and he knew his husband's propensity to forget things), Marth had stored the partridge topper in its own special box to prevent damage and misplacement. Using the step stool, he grabbed it off the top shelf in their storage and returned to Ike's side, opening the lid to reveal the so-called missing bird.

"There we go!" Ike exclaimed as he grabbed the box, lifting out the ornament before excitedly affixing it to the otherwise empty tree. This was another one of Ike's quirks: the topper always went on first before anything else.

Marth chuckled and shook his head. "You know you always knock it out of place whenever you string up the lights."

Ike turned around and gave him pointed look. "Yeah, but I _have _to put the partridge up first—"

"I know, I know," Marth interrupted with a roll of his eyes but a smile playing across his lips. "We need its blessing."

Ike merely grinned toothily at him before grabbing Marth's smaller hand in his own. "Damn right we do."

* * *

**-tbc-**


	2. Two Turtle Doves

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **2/12  
**Rating: **G (subject to change)  
**Words:** 843  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, unabashed fluff, un-beta'd

**A/N:** My god, what have I gotten myself into? How did I ever think I could successfully write something _every damn day for twelve days_?! Clearly, I am suffering from some major delusions of success here.

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 2: Two Turtle Doves**

One of Ike's favorite holiday season hobbies was to browse home goods stores for ornaments and decorations. He didn't even buy that many—Ike just liked looking at them. He liked to surround himself with everything that was Christmas cheer, and in a way, that cheer was infectious.

Saturday afternoon found them inside of the home section of a major department store. Ike was currently hovering over what appeared to be an enormous cookie jar made in the likeness of Santa Claus. Marth had proceeded to cast his judgment on the tacky and severely overpriced ceramic jar, wondering just what type of rich person it took to buy something as ugly as that.

"It's kind of cute, isn't it?" Ike mused out loud, much to Marth's dismay.

"Yeah, if this was the dollar store," he retorted with no hidden contempt.

Ike laughed at him before setting the Santa-shaped receptacle back down into its place and moving on to a different display. "But babe, half of our decorations _are_ from the dollar store."

Marth crossed his arms as he spared one last look at the offensive jar before trailing behind Ike. It was true that the majority of their decorations did come from bargain stores; however, in defense of the cheaply produced goods, they were actually tasteful (if somewhat prone to breaking).

"But they're actually _nice_," he deigned to remind his spouse. "But this… There's just no accounting for taste."

Ike's only reply was to laugh happily at him before picking up an extremely ornate candle holder.

The first time Ike convinced him to go Christmas decoration shopping, it was to their local dollar store six years ago. Marth was highly suspicious of being able to get anything remotely tasteful for 99 cents, but Ike had implored him to suspend his doubts and search the aisles without any preconceptions. Marth was planning to simply humor his then boyfriend, but much to his surprise, he found some fairly nice decorations (if you favor glitter) mixed in with the obviously cheap, tacky ones. After some careful selection and a shopping cart full of Ike's preferred mixture of red, green, gold, and sparkly, they managed to decorate their brand new apartment on less than $40.

They had even picked up their adorable penguin salt and pepper shakers that day—the same ones that Ike uses year round with the reasoning that "penguins always live in a holiday climate." Sometimes, it was better to just acquiesce.

"Marth!" Ike's voice rang out above the softly playing Christmas music, breaking Marth out of his reminiscing. (Oh god, he was getting old. Only old people reminisce!) "Look at this!"

Ike was thankfully _not_ proffering something tacky when Marth located him amongst the scattered tables. Instead, he was carefully holding up a box containing a beautiful porcelain ornament: two pure white doves facing each other, beaks touching in a kiss with a sprig of holly hanging between their breasts. The craftsmanship and detailing on the ornament, from the feathers on the birds' wings to the tiny glass holly berries, was as stunning up close as it was from afar.

And the ornament, of course, came with a price tag to match its craftsmanship.

"It's expensive," Marth mumbled as he took the box from Ike's hand, upending it to stare at the price tag on the bottom.

Ike smiled sheepishly at him, transforming all at once back into the boyish teenager he first fell in love with eight years ago. "A little, yeah. But it's _perfect,_ isn't it?"

Even if Ike weren't currently imploring him with his best impersonation of their dog, Lacey, Marth would have been inclined to purchase the ornament. It really was, as Ike put it, perfect. And it would match their omnipresent partridge and add a little more avian flair to their Christmas tree (not to mention maintain their white and gold ornament theme this year).

"Your sad puppy eyes no longer have an effect on me," he quipped cheekily as he made to put the ornament back down on its stand. He had every intention of buying it, of course; but he did love the way that Ike pouted at him when it seemed like he wouldn't get what he wanted.

Like clockwork, Ike's face fell even further into a pout before he resumed his lovably pathetic and pleading expression. "Don't say things like that, Marth!" he whined as he sidled up to his side, somehow managing to shrink in presence despite towering over Marth in physical height.

"I don't know," Marth sighed as he turned the box around in his hands contemplatively.

"Please?" The younger man had taken to nuzzling his cheek against the top of Marth's head as he sing-songed the request. When it came to Christmas, Ike really was a child in the most endearing way.

"Fine," he pretended to acquiesce with a sigh as he turned and headed towards the registers. "But you do the dishes tonight."

Marth stifled a smirk as Ike groaned behind him. The doves would look beautiful on their tree.

* * *

**-tbc-**

**A/N: **Lacey is omnipresent in SSBBSwords' and my IkeMarth headcanon, regardless of setting. It's just not _right_ without her.


	3. Three French Hens

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **3/12  
**Rating: **PG (subject to change)  
**Words:** 682  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, unabashed fluff, un-beta'd

**A/N:** I am so guilty of being Ike when it comes to cooking and Christmas parties, but maybe not as bad. I haven't gotten to the point of trying multiple recipes… yet.

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 3: Three French Hens**

Every year, Ike and Marth threw their annual Christmas party.

The executive decision was always made by Ike regarding a) the existence of the party, b) the size of the guest list, and c) the menu served. Perhaps as a concession for all the work involved with planning and hosting a soiree for 20+ people, Marth was given control over setting the date for the event. He was of the opinion that it was a very small consolation prize, but he would take whatever compromise he could—because if Ike truly got his way, they would probably be hosting their annual Christmas party, a family dinner on Christmas day, _and_ a probably equally large New Year's Eve party.

Just the thought of so many parties made Marth want to go hide in bed until January.

Marth was of the opinion that simply hosting the party was already enough work, and that food preparation should be left to the professionals. He was willing to spend the extra money to save himself some of the headache. But of course, Ike refused his suggestion year after year, insisting that they must _cook_ the majority of the food themselves, since the holiday spirit is all about giving and such (Marth would still much prefer to give his money to the caterers).

As easy-going as Ike was in his everyday life, he was as stubborn as they could get when it came to Christmas. This meant that Marth was unfortunately stuck, year after year, assisting Ike with whatever complicated holiday recipe he wanted to serve that year.

This time around, Ike had decided that the main entrée on their menu would be coq au vin. For a normal person, the next step in planning would be selecting a recipe and then buying the necessary ingredients. For Ike, however, this meant that they tried multiple recipes to find the _perfect_ one to serve at their party.

So this Sunday morning found Marth standing over the kitchen sink, begrudgingly peeling pearl onions for the third and hopefully _last_ coq au vin recipe Ike wanted to test.

"I'm sick of chicken," he grumbled as he chucked the peeled onions into the mixing bowl along with the mushrooms and carrots he had previously diced. They had already made coq au vin two other times this week, testing out crock pot recipes in order to free up the valuable real estate in their single oven for other dishes. But there were only so many days in a row that a man could eat the same dish before meal times were accompanied by a sinking feeling of dread, and Marth had reached his chicken fatigue about two days ago.

"I know," Ike replied sheepishly from the island behind him, currently in the process of uncorking a brand new bottle of pinot noir—a bottle that Marth would much prefer drinking, for the record. "Last one; I promise."

He rolled his eyes at the window in front of him, remembering how three days ago, during the preparation for recipe number two, Ike had promised the very same thing. But as if Ike could read his mind (and after eight year together, perhaps that wasn't so unlikely), suddenly there was the clink of glass before a peace offering in the form of a wine glass appeared before his face. Marth allowed Ike to press the glass to his lips, the wine washing over his tongue and bringing notes of berries along with the smoothly bitter finish.

"It's a travesty that you're about to _cook_ with this pinot," he sighed as he lowered the knife, instead opting to nurse the glass of wine. At twenty-nine, he'd long gotten over any shame regarding drinking at 10:30 in the morning. Or shame that Ike could so easily soothe his ire with a 90+ point wine.

Ike chuckled warmly by his ear before he felt arms wrap tightly around his waist in one of his lover's signature bear hugs. "I'll buy you another bottle."

Taking another sip, Marth relaxed back into the embrace. "Better make that three, Mr. Greil."

**-tbc-**


	4. Four Calling Birds

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **4/12  
**Rating: **PG (subject to change)  
**Words:** 775  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, unabashed fluff, un-beta'd

**A/N:** Did you know that "calling bird" is another term for a songbird? I didn't.

I also ended up making coq au vin for dinner tonight because writing about it yesterday made me hungry. And I pulled a Marth and had wine at midday, to boot. _I'm such a rebel_.

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 4: Four Calling Birds**

If Marth had his way, any and all Christmas shopping would be done from the peace and comfort of his armchair with a laptop across his legs. Amazon Prime and free two-day shipping were invented for a reason. He would happily contribute to the livelihood of postal workers everywhere by purchasing his gifts online.

If Ike had his way, they would both be standing in line at three in the afternoon on Thanksgiving Day for the ridiculously early "Black Friday" doorbusters, which are now so early that it's nearly become "Black Thursday." Instead of enjoying turkey and stuffing at home like normal people, Ike would prefer to get the best deals possible at the expense of personal time and energy—an expenditure Marth refused to make.

Since neither of them could truly have their way, they settled on a compromise: they went Christmas shopping at the mall during a normal weekend. This way, Marth could avoid the stressful crowds and Ike could touch and feel any products he wished to purchase in person, as well as bask in the festive decorations strung around the stores and walkways (honestly, Ike's favorite part _was_ most likely the holiday decorations). However, this excursion still lasted the better part of the day, meaning that Marth still needed a lot of caffeinated help to survive the ordeal (or wine—wine would also work).

So their first stop of the day was the chain coffee shop near their apartment. Marth was at the counter ordering himself a sensible peppermint black tea (none of this silly cream and sugar business) and a ridiculous sugar-bomb of a dessert posed as a coffee drink for Ike (of course, topped with whipped cream and more sugary syrup). Marth would get a vicious headache and the sugar crash of the century if he so much as tried to ingest Ike's drink; how his husband ever managed to consume so much sugar without ill effect was still a mystery to this day.

While the barista busied herself with preparing their drinks, Marth wandered over to the window where Ike was standing. The other was bundled up with a scarf and peacoat, simultaneously managing to look both dashing and child-like. Perhaps it was just the goofy grin stretching across Ike's face that gave the latter impression.

"You look happy," he remarked as he stopped by Ike's side. Of course, Ike was happy—there were _wreaths_ hanging inside the coffee shop. And they were about to embark on a terribly tiring shopping spree.

Instead, Ike replied, "There are finches," as if that answered anything.

Outside on the patio of the coffee shop, a group of small brown birds were flitting back and forth underneath the tables. The majority of them were pecking around the ground, feathers fluffed up against the cold as they searched for crumbs. There was one single bird, however, that stayed apart from the group. It sat atop one of the neatly trimmed and potted shrubs separating the parking lot from the coffee house patio. Its feathers were quite ruffled, and it looked like the little puffball was trying its damned hardest to forget it was in the unforgiving New England cold.

"I thought those were sparrows," Marth deadpanned. Aren't all tiny brown birds sparrows?

Ike turned and smiled brightly at him, and Marth could already see the explanation about to happen. Served him right to marry a veterinarian. "Those are common redpolls," Ike began, a single hand lifting up towards the glass to gesture at the smattering of birds. "Do you see the little red cap on that one's forehead?"

Marth squinted at the fluffy, miserable-looking bird in the bush and did notice a small patch of red on its head. Only Ike would notice something as small as that. Actually, only Ike would know what species of bird happened to be pecking for scraps outside of a coffee house. All Marth could think about was how he sympathized with that poor common redpoll.

"Peppermint Tea and large Gingerbread Latte for Marth!"

The barista's voice rang out over the Christmas music playing inside the shop. "Let me get the drinks," he mumbled before turning back to the counter where two warm, comforting beverages were awaiting them.

Five minutes later saw them settling into the car, the smell of the holidays wafting up around them as their drinks steamed in the cup holders. As Ike put the car in reverse and started backing out of the parking space, he mused aloud, "Maybe we should get a bird."

Marth scoffed as he finished buckling his seatbelt. "Yeah, only if you want Bailey to eat the little nugget."

**-tbc-**

* * *

**A/N: **Bailey, Ike and Marth's cat in SSBBSwords' and my headcanon, demanded an appearance as well in this ridiculousness. She couldn't let Lacey have all the glory.


	5. Five Golden Rings

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **5/12  
**Rating: **PG-13 (subject to change)  
**Words:** 888  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, unabashed fluff, un-beta'd

**A/N:** Super fluff, super cheese, super bad. Why is writing every day so hard?

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 5: Five Golden Rings**

Marth and Ike were married in December. In fact, their anniversary fell just ten days before Christmas. But for the record: _no_, their wedding reception was not Christmas-themed (thank god).

Ike had proposed on a chilly Christmas Eve. It was their very first Christmas living together. They had finally unpacked all of the boxes, and their new apartment was fully furnished (and then fully re-decorated by Christmas Master Ike). They'd had a couple of months to get used to living together; adjusting to another person's cleaning schedule, quirky habits, propensity to misplace organized items, and less-than-quiet snoring. The place was beginning to feel like home and, despite Marth's general ambivalence towards holidays, it was nice to have spent so much time together decorating and preparing for Christmas.

The heater was blasting in their apartment as the snow piled, fluffy and white, in the streets and tree boughs outside their living room window. Marth had been curled up on the couch, steaming mug of herbal tea cooling on the coffee table besides him, with a textbook spread open on his lap. Lacey was asleep next to him, limbs sprawled out as she slept on her side and took up every inch of the couch outside of Marth's corner. Bailey, not one to be outdone, had taken to using the sleeping golden retriever's belly as her own personal couch.

Ike had been especially awkward that night, which was, in a way, not that unusual for the younger man; whenever Ike was nervous or embarrassed about something, he tended to stammer and say peculiar things. So when Marth had noticed Ike fidgeting and asking pointed questions about his post-dinner plans (in order: shower, homework, sleep), he knew that something was up. Even if he didn't know Ike so well, it was impossible not to read the other—Ike always wore his heart on his sleeve.

What Marth didn't expect was for Ike to interrupt his reading about Han-era kiln techniques to demand he open his Christmas gift early. Marth was bemused, considering that Ike had always been very insistent on the sanctity of opening gifts on Christmas morning. He had given his then-boyfriend a raised eyebrow, to which Ike responded by blushing as red as his stocking pinned to the wall before thrusting a small, wrapped box in Marth's face. Ike's stammering had awoken Lacey, who had forcibly ejected Bailey from her flank in her haste to get up and see what was going on (and who then promptly incurred the small feline's wrath).

Wanting to return to his reading assignment, Marth had decided to humor Ike and open the present early. To his surprise, he found a simple, gold ring inside the box; a smooth band with no fancy embellishments aside from the small _forever_ engraved on the interior. He had stared at the ring for so long in disbelief, trying to wrap his mind around its significance, that he was still staring at the jewelry when Ike stuttered his proposal to the background noise of Lacey's whimpering and Bailey's hissing.

Unfortunately, and much to Ike's utter dismay, the ring didn't fit. Ike had apparently thought Marth's fingers were more slender than in reality because the ring couldn't quite make it past the knuckle. He still accepted the proposal, however, even though Ike tried to run away (literally) in embarrassment (which was a futile effort, since Marth could always catch his slow lover).

They decided to postpone the wedding until the next year when they would both graduate: Ike from university and on to veterinary school, and Marth with his masters in fine arts. Money was tight, what with both of them being students. Even so, Ike promised profusely in between apologies that he would save up again to get Marth a properly-sized ring by their wedding. Marth didn't care either way; he strung the ring onto a chain and looped it around his neck, wearing nothing else for the rest of the night to demonstrate to his new fiancé just how little it bothered him.

But true to his word, Ike had taken the ring in to get it properly sized and re-engraved for their wedding.

Marth thought that would be the end to any golden rings he would see in his lifetime. Of course, that was his own mistake for underestimating Ike's need to forever rectify any perceived wrongdoings. Either that or Ike just really liked buying him jewelry—because for every single anniversary they'd celebrated, Ike had gifted him with another gold ring. Each one was different, of course; he received a wide white-gold band for their first anniversary, a thin rose-gold one of their third.

He always insisted that he had more rings than he knew what to do with and that they had student loans up to their ears. Ike always deflected by claiming that Marth saved enough money in veterinary bills by marrying him to afford the cost. And when that inevitably failed to persuade him, Ike would distract him by pulling him close and kissing him until he forgot all of the _practical_ arguments for saving money (for that night).

Eventually, Marth just gave up trying to dissuade Ike. And for their fifth anniversary, the same year that Marth stopped protesting the gifts of golden rings, Ike bought him a jewelry box instead.

**-tbc-**


	6. Six Geese-a-Laying

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **6/12  
**Rating: **G (subject to change)  
**Words:** 983  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, unabashed fluff, un-beta'd

**A/N:** I'm having a bad flare of my neuromuscular syndrome and have felt like garbage all day, and it's been _really_ hard to think. And I have no idea how to make geese Christmas-y. I'm also making excuses for my lack of give-a-damn. But at least I managed to post before midnight, so um… yay?

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 6: Six Geese-a-Laying**

Maybe it was part and parcel with the whole Christmas spirit, but Ike always became very nostalgic during the holidays.

Ike was already a very sentimental person to begin with. Marth never cared much for framed photographs hanging on a wall—if he wanted to look at photos, he could just view them on his computer, seeing as all of the pictures came off of a digital camera or cell phone anyway. However, their apartment was decorated with a great assortment of photographs: plain 4x6 frames arranged artfully in a collage on the living room wall across from the front door; standing frames nestled in corners of their bookshelf (and taking up valuable books-only real estate, in Marth's opinion); a large print of one of their engagement photos, Lacey's smile perhaps outshining theirs both, hanging above their bed; and many more here and there, wherever Ike could manage to stick a visual memento.

Decorating with photographs (no matter how excessive) was still fairly normal practice. Where Ike took it to the next and severely outdated level was in keeping photo albums.

His parents kept photo albums full of pictures of Marth and Elice growing up, which was expected; there was no other way back then (barring very grainy camcorder film) to document their childhood in various and embarrassing ways. Marth has never seen them, but he's sure the Greil household has their fair share of yellowed, stiff pages full of little Ike's face as well. But living in a digital age as they were, it was especially odd that Ike would take his image files to be printed physically—especially when most folks, including his own, were doing the opposite by scanning old photographs.

In defense of his photo albums, Ike claimed that there was just something _magical_ about flipping through pages and pages of memories, one after another, and reliving those moments. Something about physically holding an album, heavy with photo stock and nostalgia, and anchoring yourself down in the past, however momentary. It was not an unusual sight to see Ike working on the albums throughout the year, but it was a guaranteed event to see him sitting on the floor of their living room, flipping through every single page and commenting on whatever memory it stirred (to the sole audience of Lacey, at times) during December.

Tonight was one of those instances. Marth happened to be within hearing range, sitting at his throwing wheel and quickly sculpting some last-minute replacement gifts. Bailey's curiosity had gotten the better of her and she'd ripped through the plastic bag covering the drying serving bowl he was planning on raku glazing for Zelda. After a scolding that the old cat most-likely ignored and an _extremely_ unpleasant bath to scrape the clay off her fur, Marth found himself back at his wheel with a mound of wet clay in his hands.

About four feet away and completely in his own universe, Ike suddenly piped up like an excited child. "Oh man, this picture! Come look, babe!"

Marth rolled his eyes up at the ceiling as he shaped the clay in the center of the wheel before flipping the machine on with a loud whir. "Kind of busy here." He pressed his fingers lightly into the middle of the clay, gently spreading it outwards and up into the same wide-rimmed shape he'd made previously. He needed to finish this tonight so it had enough time to air dry properly before glazing.

"Oh, sorry!" Ike yelled over the machinery just as Marth caught sight of him bouncing up off the floor like a sweater-clad jack-in-the-box in his peripheral vision. "I'll come to you." Next thing he knew, Ike was standing directly to his right side, hovering with the photo album _very nearly_ obscuring his view of the bowl he was shaping. Marth felt a headache coming on as he leaned slightly to the left and continued working.

"Remember when we went to this park?"

Ike was gesturing to a photo taken four years ago during the summer. They were at a park with a large pond in the center and an ever-present population of overfed ducks. They had brought seeds and rolled oats to feed the water fowl (Ike could rant forever about the _danger_ of feeding bread to birds) and an extra-long leash for Lacey to romp around.

That day, there happened to be a gaggle of geese lounging by the water's edge, much to their dog's excitement. Or so she thought, until her decision to chase a goose led to her running frantically away from three of the geese in retaliation. Ike had freaked out as much as Lacey and ran towards the agitated geese in her protection. This, of course, led to the pair of them running for their lives towards the parking lot from the pursuing birds. Marth had stayed put exactly where he was, stifling his laughter as he snapped a photo of the ridiculousness—for _posterity_ and all.

He felt a smile creep unbidden onto his face. "How could I forget? Both you and Lacey were screaming like the end of the world was coming."

Unperturbed by the snide remark, Ike laughed joyfully as he stared at the hilarious photograph. "Those geese were _fast_!"

"Nah, you're just that slow." The smirk grew on his face as Ike groaned in reply about that comment being a low blow. "Speaking of slow; are you going to let me finish Zelda's present?" He elbowed his tall husband gently in the leg from his seated position. "Or do I have to chase you off?"

Ike laughed as he jumped away from the wheel, tucking the album safely beneath his arm. "No thanks! You're much scarier than the geese!"

"… I can't decide if that's an insult."

Ike's reply was to scurry off to the bedroom amidst laughter, Lacey following him with an equally happy bark.

**-tbc-**


	7. Seven Swans-a-Swimming

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **7/12  
**Rating: **G (subject to change)  
**Words:** 619  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, unabashed fluff, un-beta'd

**A/N:** Swans are basically white geese. Why on earth are they even a separate gift?! What the hell, old-timey English Christmas carol.

On a side note, I'm still feeling awful but am determined to meet these self-imposed deadlines.

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 7: Seven Swans-a-Swimming**

They were going to be late. It was nearly 6 PM and the show was to begin at 7 PM sharp—a show that was being held in the performing arts center a 45-minutes drive away without traffic. And it was a Friday evening, meaning there would _absolutely_ be heavy traffic.

"Ike," he said with clear warning in his voice, the name squeezing out between his clenched teeth. "We're late."

Inside the bedroom, amidst the clanging of hangers and rustling of clothing, came his lover's frazzled voice. "I know, I know! I'm sorry, I just got held up at the clinic today!"

Marth was leaning against the door jamb of their bedroom, dressed smartly in his best slacks, dress shirt, and a warm knit sweater (it _was_ December, after all). He'd already looped his scarf around his neck and was holding his long wool coat in his arms. He'd been ready since 5:30 PM.

On balance, Ike was in the process of stripping as fast as possible out of his work scrubs, attempting to simultaneously pull the top over his head while grabbing for his suit jacket inside the closet. The haphazard attempt only resulted in the scrub top getting caught on his forehead.

Marth sighed as he glanced nervously down at his wristwatch yet again. "You wouldn't be late if you'd just stop taking walk-in appointments." Ike had promised him back and forth that the last appointment of the day was scheduled for 3:30 PM and that he would be out the clinic doors by 4 PM. Ike meant well, but any promises he ever made regarding timeliness were destined to be broken.

His husband blushed at the truth in Marth's words once he was freed from his top. "I know, but there was this poor French bulldog pup that came in with—"

"Stop," he commanded as he folded his arms across his chest, lips pursed. "Just get dressed."

Ike shrunk like a scolded puppy and hastily pulled his suit pants on.

They were going to the ballet tonight. They'd always gone over the years in support of Zelda's career, but this was the first year that their friend had been promoted to principal dancer in her company. She was going to be dancing the lead role of Odette/Odile in Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, and tonight was the opening night. Zelda had even managed to get them tickets to the sold-out premiere—and Marth was _not_ about to repay her by being late to her debut.

Thankfully, Ike had managed to don his full suit in record time and was currently struggling with his tie. Ike was never good with tying a tie, so taking pity on him, Marth stepped in to fix his sorry-looking Windsor knot (or at least that's what he thought Ike was attempting).

His spouse nervously cleared his throat while he looped the fabric between his hands. This, of course, caused Marth to narrow his eyes in suspicion as he tightened the knot. "What?"

"Is this a bad time to mention I'm hungry?"

Marth couldn't help the laugh that escaped his throat. Partly he was laughing at Ike's wretched timing, but mostly he was amused that he knew his husband well enough to expect this outcome and plan for it in advance. "I already packed us sandwiches for the road."

Ike was wearing the same expression as Lacey whenever the word "walk" was mentioned. "God, I love you."

Marth rolled his eyes as he pushed his lover away, just barely escaping from the hug that they did not have time for and hightailing it to the kitchen to get said dinner. "Yeah, yeah. Now grab the flowers and let's go before Zelda kills us."

**-tbc-**


	8. Eight Maids-a-Milking

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **8/12  
**Rating: **R (subject to change)  
**Words:** 875  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, cross-dressing sexy times, un-beta'd

**A/N:** So this happened because I can think of absolutely _nothing_ else to do with maids, for my mind is perennially in the gutter. A sadly cliché gutter, at that. But um… SSBBSwords totally approved of this idea, so that makes it okay?

This is (hopefully) the only chapter to be written from Ike's perspective. Yes, I know it's supposed to be _Marth's_ Twelve Days of Christmas, but I tried for _half a day_ to make this non-cracky from Marth's POV and it just wouldn't happen. Also, there's nothing Christmas-y about this whatsoever. Whoops.

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 8: Eight Maids-a-Milking  
**

"I'm going to do some cleaning."

Marth's sudden proclamation took Ike by surprise, and he quirked an eyebrow as he regarded the older man. It was nine at night; not exactly prime housework hours, but then again, Marth could be quite fastidious when it came to the cleanliness of their living space. "Um… okay? You need help?"

A cursory glance around their living room showed that things were tidy for the most part, if perhaps starting to collect a little dust. Ike was in the process of trying to determine the area they'd be cleaning next (please, not the bathroom, he _hated_ cleaning the bathroom) when, much to his surprise, Marth walked straight into the bedroom.

"Maybe later. I'll let you know."

Ike blinked as the bedroom door closed behind his short husband and then promptly screwed his face up in an expression of confusion. Was their bedroom messy? He tried to remember if he'd mistakenly left his clothes lying on the floor instead of placing them inside the hamper.

Lacey seemed unperturbed by Marth's behavior and Ike's concern as she continued to stare at the television. After Marth didn't immediately emerge from the bedroom, Ike decided he should take a cue from the happy-go-lucky retriever and return to the crime drama as well. After all, if he _had_ left the bedroom in a mess, he was due for a glowering regardless, so no point in dreading it. He tried to convince himself of that fact as the commercial break came to an end.

When Marth did come out of the bedroom, Ike had already allowed himself to be engrossed in the television show and didn't notice the movement out of the corner of his eye (eternal tunnel vision and all). It wasn't until Marth started walking towards where he was sitting on the middle of the couch that Ike finally looked away from the flashing LCD screen—only to start sputtering when he caught sight of his spouse.

For Marth was wearing a French maid's costume, complete with duster in hand.

"M-M-Marth?" he said eloquently as he stared at his husband and the black satin dress that brushed the tops of his thighs (when did he shave?). Somehow, the short dress only further emphasized Marth's slender figure, and Ike found the heat rushing to his face as he blushed brightly in both embarrassment and arousal.

Sometimes, they role played in the bedroom for fun. It was something that Ike enjoyed, but it had taken a few years of suggestions before Marth had agreed to participate. Usually, they adopted personality roles more so than clothing changes; although, Ike was _quite_ happy whenever Marth decided to try the sexy librarian look. So to see Marth in what was undeniably a costume, _cross-dressing_ no less, was quite a shock to his senses.

While Ike was busy being flabbergasted by his appearance, Marth took the opportunity to lift the duster and tap him on the shoulder. Lacey must have thought they were about to play fetch because she jumped up and tried to grab at the cleaning implement, only to be shooed away by his scantily-clad lover. Their dog whined pitifully, giving Marth some truly sad puppy-eyes before settling down in her bed in the corner like a petulant child sent to her room.

But Ike was far too distracted to feel sorry for Lacey at the moment. "What are you doing?" he asked in bewilderment as Marth continued to slide the duster down his arm, all the while slinging his legs over Ike's thighs and settling down on his lap.

"Cleaning, like I told you," the other replied simply as his free hand settled on Ike's stomach before trailing lower, fingers immediately finding and unhooking the button of his jeans. Ike's heart rate increased by at least fifteen beats per minute as those deft fingers slid the zipper down, his lover having had nearly a decade's worth of practice undoing his pants. And then the breath caught in his throat as those same fingers, forever cold despite the ambient temperature, reached inside and wrapped around his aching flesh.

"It's dirty here," Marth murmured as he leaned forward, lips brushing against Ike's ear as he spoke. Ike intelligently replied by panting as he pushed his hips upwards into the touch, his abdomen clenching with desire as he slid his hands up the other's legs and underneath the dress. He could feel Marth's smile against his neck at the same time as he felt a slow, maddening, upwards tug.

"I'll need to spend some extra time on this spot," Marth continued as he worked, leaving a trail of kisses over his leaping pulse in between the words, heavy with promise. It took Ike but half a second thereafter to pick the other up in his arms and carry him off to the bedroom (god forbid that he let Lacey and Bailey become voyeurs). Marth laughed and complained about how impossible it would be to clean without his duster, now forgotten on the sofa, and demanded that Ike help him with the task like he had offered earlier.

And for the rest of the night, all Ike could think about was how much he liked helping Marth with his "cleaning."

**-tbc-**

* * *

**A/N: **Oh, there was a maid-a-milking tonight, all right. _Tee hee hee._


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **9/12  
**Rating: **PG-13 (subject to change)  
**Words:** 1041  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, language, un-beta'd

**A/N:** Because SSBBSwords proclaimed that "I [want] to see Marth completely disturbed in a gay club and require Ike to come riding in on that stallion from the vet clinic." Thanks for your input, or else I would have been stuck and re-writing this with different ideas all night.

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 9: Nine Ladies Dancing**

Over the years, Marth found himself with a significant number of female friends. It wasn't so much that he sought out friends of the fairer sex, but that he just seemed to connect to their personalities better as individuals. Ike, whose close friends all happened to be male, took some fun in teasing him about his feminine entourage (but don't you ever _dare_ call Peach a fag hag, or you will quickly learn just how dangerous those hips are).

So that is how he sometimes found himself being pressured by three very strong-willed, independent ladies into activities that he found far from enjoyable. Like dancing at a gay bar.

Marth was about as far removed from the "gay scene" as you could possibly get. He wasn't flamboyant, he didn't attend drag competitions, he didn't make an effort to support small businesses with known homosexual proprietors—hell, he didn't even attend pride events (not that he was ashamed, or anything; he just had no interest in being associated with such audacious behavior). It just wasn't in his personality. He was guilty of falling into the reclusive artist stereotype more than anything else. Or perhaps just being an introvert. His idea of a perfect night really was curling up on the couch alone with some tea and a good book.

It came to follow, then, that he was _extremely uncomfortable_ in his current situation: pressed physically flush against multiple bodies (one belonging to a complete stranger), drowning in painfully loud music, and sweating a ridiculous amount for a mid-December night.

"This sucks!" he complained as he was jostled from side to side. Did someone just grab his _ass_?

Peach had called him earlier that night, demanding that he free his schedule between the hours of 10 PM and 2 AM. He had balked and told her that for three quarters of that time frame, he had been planning on sleeping, thank you very much. The peppy young woman then informed him that Samus just got dumped a week before Christmas, and it was their duty as her friends to take her out to forget her sorrows—lest, of course, he _prefer_ that she sob over pints of Ben &amp; Jerry's all night.

Marth had, at the time, reluctantly agreed to go. Apparently, the four years since his last clubbing experience (also at the behest of Peach) had dampened the awfulness in his memory, or else he would have opted to provide Samus with all the ice cream she could want instead. But here he was, stuck in the middle of a crowded dance floor, and scowling in everyone's general direction. He was far too old for this nonsense.

In reply to his whining, Zelda laughed as she looped her arms around his neck, leaning in close so he could hear her likewise yelled words. "Lighten up, Marth!" The athletic woman bounced along to the beat of the obnoxious song blasting through the myriad overhead speakers. "Just have some fun!" How on earth could this be considered _music_? There wasn't even an identifiable time signature to this electronic noise.

As if to reiterate the point (or perhaps annoy him further), he felt a second pair of arms wind around his torso as breasts pressed against his back, and Samus' voice entered his other ear. "Aww, missing Ike, baby?"

Marth rolled his eyes as he was essentially sandwiched between two scantily-clad and very attractive women, what he imagined was the wet dream of many a straight man. He felt the urge to sullenly snap that yes, he'd much rather be in bed at home with his spouse, when he bit his tongue out of respect. Samus had looked miserable when they picked her up earlier; it had taken three drinks and two hours for the blonde to begin to smile again, and he wasn't about to ruin their efforts.

So instead he retorted, "You're not exactly my type, Samus." While the woman behind him couldn't hear the words, Zelda giggled next to his shoulder.

Thankfully, Peach pulled Samus away from him a moment later and he was allowed a little room to breathe. This dance floor was positively suffocating, and he wasn't even claustrophobic. Feeling a sudden need for some fresh (if somewhat frozen) air, he started pulling away from the dancing brunette in front of him.

"I'm going for some air!" He had to yell his plans twice before Zelda could understand him over the music. Once she nodded back in understanding, he started pushing his way through the crowd, which was no small task considering everyone's wild movements. After getting elbowed once, his foot stepped on twice, and a drink spilled on his shirt (just fantastic), he finally made his way to the smoking patio of the bar. He braced himself as he stepped through the doors and out into the cold, the sudden temperature change causing a shiver to inadvertently overtake his whole body.

As he sagged against the railing, he contemplated waking his husband up and begging him to bail him from his current situations. He held his phone between his frozen fingers, staring at the texting program for a while in indecision before he started entering the words.

_I miss you._

Marth looked at the message, hoping for an instant reply. Then he eyed the time in the upper right corner and realized that it was pushing 1 AM, and Ike would definitely be asleep right now (as would any sane person). So it surprised him to feel his phone vibrate just as he was about to slip it back into his pocket.

_Me too. Come home soon._

Ike's reply caused a smile to spread across his lips. In that moment, he lost his internal battle of will and decided to ask for a rescue mission.

_Come pick me up?_

It took but a moment for Ike's text to appear on his screen.

_Fat chance, babe._

Marth resumed his earlier scowling just as Peach found where he had gone off to hide (wasn't she supposed to be dancing with Samus?) and dragged him back inside to the club's main floor. Marth resolved that Ike was getting the cold shoulder for the next week in retribution. Some white knight he married.

**-tbc-**

* * *

**A/N: **Bonus fun! The following passage is courtesy of SSBBSwords as she imagined how Marth might possibly be "saved" by Ike from his clubbing distress.

Marth: Ike, I need a favor.  
Ike: Anything.  
Marth: Come save me.  
Ike: I thought you'd never ask.

Three minutes later…

Marth: WTF?  
Ike: I was waiting outside for your distress call.  
Marth: …  
Ike: I love you. Let's do gay things on this dance floor.  
Marth: WTF?!

(Sorry that didn't happen, SSBBSwords. But I laughed my ass off all the same!)


	10. Ten Lords-a-Leaping

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **10/12  
**Rating: **PG (subject to change)  
**Words:** 686  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, bad dialogue, un-beta'd

**A/N:** I don't even know anymore. I don't even make sense to myself at this point.

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 10: Ten Lords-a-Leaping**

"Ballroom dancing?"

"Yeah. I got a group deal for two couples, eight lessons total."

Marth squinted his eyes ever so slightly in suspicion, as if the words held some sort of hidden threat (in his defense, anything to do with his friends and dancing usually came with a certain level of threat). Zelda, in response, smiled at him over her plate of salad, the low lighting in the restaurant doing nothing to dim the twinkling in her eyes.

"But Zelda, you dance for a living," Ike piped up beside him, curiosity clear in his voice. "Why do you want to dance some more?"

As if she were a beleaguered teacher and Ike was the student who had just asked the stupidest question possible, Zelda sighed as she gestured her spinach-laden fork in his husband's direction. "That's my _career._ This is for fun!"

Next to his wife, Link was stabbing silently at his own salad, clearly having no say in the matter regarding his own participation in any dance-related activities. Marth supposed that was just fair, considering he dragged Zelda along to archery competitions. Just as Ike dragged him out hiking for the sole purpose of bird watching, and Marth forced his very bored husband to accompany him to different art galleries.

"Dancing's not my idea of fun," Marth mumbled quietly to himself before proceeding to nurse his wine glass. He would need a refill very soon. The fresh memories of the disastrous clubbing experience had left him particularly averse to anything close to dancing.

Unfortnately for him, Zelda had hearing almost as good as her impeccable balance. "Stop being a spoilsport," she commanded before apparently deciding that convincing him of the merits of dancing lessons was a complete and utter waste of time. Turning to face his husband instead, she began her sales pitch. "Come on, Ike. When was the last time you guys danced? At your wedding?"

Marth cast a quick glance at the other, only to see the taller man tilt his head to the side with a contemplative expression. He could see Ike digging into his memory and trying to recall the information. Zelda was spot on, though—they danced once and only once at their wedding, and that was the single dance they ever shared in their entire relationship. And for good reason: neither of them were particularly good dancers, with Ike falling under the "two left feet" category in particular.

"Yeah," Ike hesitantly began before lifting a hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his head. It was a nervous gesture he'd done ever since they first met. "But it's because I'm a terrible dancer. I stepped on Marth's feet two times during that dance."

_Actually, it was three,_ he silently corrected his spouse as he drained the cabernet in his glass, promptly reaching for the bottle at the end of the table for a much needed refill.

"That's just because you need practice!" Zelda continued, not to be daunted by silly things such as insecurities. "Besides, it'll give us something else to do on our double dates."

The waiter interrupted their conversation at that point to serve them their entrées. Momentarily distracted by the food (Ike and Lacey were strikingly similar in that respect), Marth was hoping that Ike would be too busy enjoying his steak to contemplate the offer of dance lessons. Unfortunately for him, Ike was not quite as single-minded as Lacey when it came to his food.

"Sure, why not?" Ike began after he swallowed his first bite of food. "It might be fun to try something new." Marth gave Ike his worst icy glare, which apparently no longer had the same effect because his spouse continued conversing with Zelda as if month-long litter box duty wasn't waiting him once they got home.

"Great!" Zelda exclaimed as she clapped her hands together, looking far too excited about adding additional physical activity to her already rigorous schedule. "I'll book the first class for next week."

Marth imagined the two of them leaping across the dance floor in a foxtrot and poured himself a third glass of wine.

**-tbc-**


	11. Eleven Pipers Piping

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **11/12  
**Rating: **PG-13 (subject to change)  
**Words:** 801  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, un-beta'd

**A/N:** Just _one_ more day…! Then I can be free to forget all about writing again for the next six months! Whoo!

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 11: Eleven Pipers Piping**

Not many people were aware of this, but Ike could play the flute.

It was something he learned as a child, albeit unwillingly at that time. His parents had forced him into music lessons as part of a well-rounded education. As Marth's husband would put it, he thought his parents were masochists for wanting to subject their evenings to his discordant and horrendous playing. The subject of practicing his flute was a daily fight with his parents—one that usually ended up with Ike being sent to his room (where he would simply play with his guinea pig, so not really much of a punishment at all).

Over the years as it became clear that Ike had no latent musical genius, his parents relented and agreed to stop the unwanted flute lessons. For the six years that followed, Ike never once touched his flute; in fact, he only remembered its existence when he was packing to leave for university. On a whim, he had taken the instrument along. If asked for the reason, Ike wouldn't even be able to tell you. The most you might get from him would be a sheepish smile and some nonsense about nostalgia.

Although he brought the flute along with him to university, he never once played in during the first two years of his schooling. In fact, it wasn't until Marth found the dusty case and inquired about its contents that Ike even told him he once played an instrument. Marth had jokingly asked at the time whether Ike was going to serenade him, only to be met with blushing, stammering, and excuses about needing to practice first.

He hadn't thought much about it afterwards (it was a joke, after all). But three months later, after they had finished burning off some academic stress between the sheets, Ike turned to him with all seriousness and made him promise not to laugh—no context provided whatsoever. Marth was confused by the sudden seriousness in his boyfriend's expression and promised out of curiosity. Not a second later, Ike was jumping stark naked out of bed before grabbing the no-longer-dusty case and carefully assembling his flute. Then, still in the buff, he stood in the middle of his room and played a beautiful classical piece—one that was significantly more advanced than expected for someone who hadn't played the flute in roughly eight years.

Once Ike finished, he had blushed and scratched at the back of his head while asking whether Marth enjoyed the performance. Marth had then informed him that while the music was nice, the view was _especially_ enjoyable, and that he should perform for him more often. Ike had laughed while futilely trying to cover himself with the flute, only to give up and crawl back into bed in order to distract Marth from any further snarky comments he may have had.

Marth never did receive another nude solo after that one (a shame), but he supposed he could settle for listening to Ike practice whenever he had time. Although he was busy, first with undergraduate studies and finally veterinary school, Ike always tried to set out a little time each week to practice the flute, even if just for a few minutes. Over time, he grew to truly love the instrument in a way he never could as a child.

Fortunately for Ike, he seemed to have a gained a bit of a following—if only of the furry persuasion. The member of their household that positively adored Ike's playing was none other than Bailey. The old cat, whose hearing was now starting to fade with the years, would still curl up between Ike's feet whenever the taller man sat down to practice. Her contented purring would be so loud that it seemed like she actually wished to compete with the flute. Except that the moment Ike stopped playing, she would lift up her head and whine pointedly at him, either until he resumed playing or distracted her with treats instead.

Bailey's favorite tunes happened to be Christmas songs, for whatever reason. They discovered it completely by accident one year when Ike decided to play some flute-only arrangements of classic Christmas carols, and Bailey meowed along like a singer to accompaniment. This led to one of their many annual Christmas traditions: Ike's Christmas Concert, specifically for one Ms. Bailey (Marth and Lacey were welcome, too).

As Marth relaxed on the couch to listen to his spouse play "Silver Bells," Bailey firmly curled around Ike's ankles, he couldn't help but feel the warm Christmas spirit (a little like a heated blanket on a cold morning). Or maybe that was just Lacey's breath against his side as the retriever tried to burrow her way underneath his sweatshirt.

Honestly, he'd still much prefer a naked concerto, though.

**-tbc-**


	12. Twelve Drummers Drumming

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Super Smash Brothers: Brawl or any of the characters, and this piece of fanfiction is for the sole purpose of entertainment.

**Dedication: **To SSBBSwords/LilPurplFlwr.

**Pairing:** IkeMarth  
**Genre: **romance  
**Part: **12/12  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Words:** 900  
**Warnings: **AU, homosexuality, language, un-beta'd

**A/N:** It's finally done! I was busier today than I thought I'd be; I wanted to get this up around afternoon, but that clearly didn't happen.

Thank you to anyone who stuck through to the end of this writing experiment; I hope it wasn't all too horrible and there were moments here and there where I could bring a smile to your face. If not… well, you can rest assured that I won't be trying this again!

I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Merry Christmas, everyone!

* * *

**Marth's Twelve Days of Christmas  
****Part 12: Twelve Drummers Drumming**

Christmas morning with Ike was an unexpectedly quiet event. All the festivities, music, and decorating that filled the days leading up to the official holiday never managed to spill over after midnight. Instead, they went to bed at a normal time on Christmas Eve after turning off the lights on the Christmas tree one last time for the year.

They always woke up early to start a pot of spiced steel-cut oats, so that after they took Lacey on her usual morning walk, they would return to a warm apartment smelling of spice and comfort. That smell of cinnamon and nutmeg was actually Marth's favorite thing about Christmas—more than the presents, the decorations, and even the day off from work. Bailey _appeared _to share his sentiment because she could always be found lounging on the kitchen counter staring at the pot, but that was actually because she expected it to erupt in a volcano of feathers. Ike was to blame for forever misleading their poor cat; Marth had _told _him not to pack a pot full of feathers for Bailey's present one year, but of course his spouse ignored his ever-pragmatic advice.

After breakfast, they always settled down around the tree with a notepad and pen to open presents—they needed to keep track of who gave what for the thank you cards, after all. They opened gifts received from friends and family first, saving their gifts to each other for last.

Lacey was always locked away in the bedroom during this time because she couldn't help but snarf all of the chocolates and cookies they received immediately, and an emergency clinic visit was the last thing they wanted to give her for Christmas. The rhythmic scritch scratch as she clawed at the bedroom door was guaranteed to tear at Ike's heartstrings until he gave in and bought her forgiveness with bacon-flavored treats galore (despite knowing she was overweight). But even Marth couldn't fault Lacey for wanting to be included, especially when she could hear Bailey gleefully meowing outside.

See, after the pot of oatmeal inevitably disappointed her, Bailey could then be found stalking around the Christmas tree and awaiting her own present—the pile of boxes, bags, gift wrap, and ribbons that inevitably grew through the gift-opening process. She would jump into and pounce on everything she possibly could, sending wrapping paper flying across the room as she played like a kitten. They always had their work cut out for them ensuring that she didn't tear into the unopened presents, too.

The winter sun was sleepily creeping in through the open blinds, casting a vaguely blue tint over their living room. All the gifts had been opened except for the two final presents, sitting under the very base of the tree and half-covered in pine needles for it. Ike had already cracked open one of the many boxes of holiday cookies they had received and was happily stuffing one chocolate-covered cookie after another into his mouth with glee. Marth opted to abstain; the maple syrup in the oatmeal was more than enough sugar for one morning.

"Open mine first!" Ike requested between bites of cookies, the words garbled around the crumbs. Marth had to refrain from telling his resident man-child to not speak with his mouth full, instead reaching for the small box covered in snowman wrapping paper and curled blue ribbon.

He shook the gift to dislodge any remaining tree bits and found that it was surprisingly heavy for something so small. Tearing into the paper (he used to carefully undo gift wrap at the corners until he realized it was a moot point with Bailey around) revealed a plain cardboard carton, which was holding what appeared to be an antique, green-lacquered music box.

Marth lifted the metal lid of the box, revealing not the expected ballerina or dancing couple, but a small figurine of a young boy with a drum strapped around his neck. Winding up the gear on the bottom of the box resulted in a chiming instrumental rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy," which actually happened to be Marth's favorite Christmas carol. It was an unusual gift but one that demonstrated a lot of thought and affection—something that wasn't lost on him.

"Thank you," Marth said quietly over the music, watching as the figure of the drummer boy spun in a lazy circle from his pedestal.

"I thought of you immediately when I saw this," Ike happily explained across from him. Then his face split into the tell-tale grin he always wore when he was about to tell either a bad joke or pun of some sort (no poker face whatsoever, that husband of his). "Because you always know how to beat my drum."

"… Did you get me this gift just so you could make that joke?"

"Maybe." The shit-eating grin answered in a definitive "yes."

Marth had to strongly resist the urge to face palm. "You're an idiot."

"I know. Merry Christmas, Marth."

The small music box continued to play the carol in his hand, keeping time as his husband leaned in to press a soft kiss against his cheek. He rolled his eyes as a smile crept unbidden onto his face, leaning in and wrapping his free arm around the one person he was happy to spend the rest of his life with (horrible jokes and all).

"Merry Christmas, Ike."

**-fin-**


End file.
